


Quiddity

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor [35]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Q happens, and there's not much you can do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiddity

_quid·di·ty - _noun_ \- 1 : whatever makes something the type that it is : essence_

__

_   
_

~^~^~^~^~^~

_All the days we've been together  
All the days we've been apart  
Add up to a bunch of nothing  
If I'm not still in your heart  
I never want you to be  
Just a page in my history  
Someone I used to love_

_Your voice breathed in my ear  
Or on the telephone  
All the tender things we've whispered  
To keep from feeling alone  
May they never come to be  
Just cold gems set in memory  
Of someone I used to love_

_This current flows between us  
That will not be denied  
You draw me in towards you  
Like the moon pulls at the tide  
May no shadow ever fall  
That will make me have to call  
You someone I used to love_

_~ Bruce Cockburn_

~^~^~^~^~

Jean-Luc beamed to the starbase and made his way to level fourteen. As he rounded a corner in the broad main corridor, he swung close to the wall to avoid a group of cadets wandering by gawking at him.

"Hello, Captain," a female voice said, almost purring. It happened so rarely, but every once in a while. . . .

He turned, his best 'briefing room' face in place. "Yes?"

She leaned against the wall and postured at him, a hand on her hip, and he wondered if other captains ever got this kind of attention, or if it were only him. Damned if he'd ever ask one of them about it, though. She pursed her lips and gave him a once-over. If it were possible for her to find a tighter or shorter pink dress, he didn't see how. The brevity of it made her neck and legs seem unnaturally long.

"I'm Landis," she said, holding out a manicured hand. Her long pink nails reminded him of claws. "I'd like to welcome you to the starbase."

"How nice of you," he said, smiling faintly. "I'm Jean-Luc Picard. I've been here for nearly a week now, and I'm on my way to pick up a gift for my wife. Excuse me."

He strode off and heard her hand strike her thigh when it dropped. Not wasting another thought on her, he looked for the right storefront and when he didn't see it, consulted a nearby directory. Ten minutes later he found his destination without further incident.

The store wasn't busy, and the clerk turned from an open box of goods on the counter to greet him.

"Good morning, Captain. What can I do for you?"

"I believe you have a package for me. Picard?"

The clerk nodded, his expression unchanging, but as he brought the wrapped package from a bottom shelf beneath the counter and placed it between them, he said, "Nice present for a lady. Must be someone special."

He glared, but said nothing. The insinuation-laced tone of the clerk bothered him, but he dismissed the ire easily enough -- if the man wanted to be unprofessional he'd just lost a repeat customer. There were other stores.

Package tucked under his arm, he moved on to his next destination, where the staff behaved much more professionally. His two parcels in hand, he returned to the ship and headed for his quarters.

Deanna wasn't there. Still with Malia, probably, and the other mothers aboard. Now that she had time she could socialize. It gave him time to wrap his surprise. Thinking of this last week and putting it into action had been spur of the moment, but he considered it inspiration. Her birthday wasn't for another two weeks. The only way to really surprise her would be to celebrate it out of turn, and given the nature of his gifts he'd rather do it privately, rather than at the inevitable party. Not that they were anything original, but she loved surprises best.

"How very thoughtful."

That same oily insinuation, that same voice. He turned slowly to find Q leaning against the bookcase. His clothes, while otherwise unremarkable, were the ones that had been on the clerk.

"You think she'll like it?" Q gestured at the collection of items, smirking. "There's not enough chocolate there, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you. Go away." Careful to keep anger out of his voice that might reward Q for being irritating, he tried to ignore the unwelcome visitor and act as though he wasn't there.

"It wasn't me, you know. I'm sorry about that whole situation with the -- "

"I'm not interested in whatever you're here for," Jean-Luc said, feigning boredom and fighting the urge to snap at Q. He studied the less personal of the gifts, the candy, and hoped the being would vanish soon.

"You would be if you knew what it was. I'd like to make up for the pain they caused you. I did not intend to make you suffer."

Jean-Luc put down the lid of the box and turned around, crossing his arms. It wasn't going to be as easy as ignoring him, it seemed. "You almost sound sincere. If you were anyone else, I might be inclined to take it that way."

Q actually looked serious. "I hope you do. Because it annoyed me to no end when they butted in on our little game last time and did that to you. I'd like to make it up to you. Call it a belated anniversary present, from moi to you and the little missus."

Jean-Luc winced at the way he referred to them. "You're saying the Continuum had something to do with it? I thought you were the only one who meddled. In fact, didn't you once suffer punishment for your meddling with us?"

"Ah, the implications," Q crooned. "Cashing in a favor, or warning me of consequences? Either way, you don't have to worry overmuch on my account. Of course I'm not the only one who meddles -- I'm just one of the few who actually like being up front about it. I really am here to make amends. Why should that be such a surprise to you?" The oddness of a semi-serious Q lost its novelty quickly enough, when it occurred to Jean-Luc that it might be part of the manipulation.

"Q. . . . I appreciate the thought. Honestly. But, I don't want another disruption in my life right now."

"But it wouldn't be a disruption, mon capitaine," Q exclaimed, spreading his hands and edging into his more familiar trademark flamboyance. "I could have you back a nanosecond after you leave! Call it a field trip. Tactical training!"

"Tactical. . . ."

"I'll take you to Betazed! We'll visit -- "

"No. Out of the question."

"I wasn't going to say 'your mother-in-law' -- delicious as that would be. I took your sweet little bird to visit you and your Maman, so it's only fair that you get to see her in an earlier stage, oui?"

"I know everything about her past that I care to know, and things I don't know she can tell me. Now go away and leave me be, please."

"Maybe you would appreciate seeing her Academy days?"

"I don't have time for -- "

A searing white flash, and he knew the adventure had begun, in spite of his unwillingness to participate.

~^~^~^~^~

"Get out of my roses! You think I plant them for your personal benefit?" The hoarse shout echoed across the courtyard outside Nogura Hall. Jean-Luc almost dropped the padd he held. That was Boothby -- he never changed. Turning around, Jean-Luc watched the old groundskeeper send a couple of cadets scurrying out of the rose garden near the fountain.

He took a few steps and stopped. Was this fantasy, or reality? Was it something like the what-if scenario Q had put him through, or was it like Deanna's experience, an actual trip backward in time? If this were really the past, the Academy when Deanna had been there, he needed to tread carefully. Somewhere out in the galaxy Jean-Luc Picard was busy making a name for himself. An older version of him should not appear at the Academy.

The padd in his hands was of the old style, larger and less streamlined, and its contents indicated that it belonged to one Cadet Jonathon Harkness, who had an appointment with a tutor to go over his archeology coursework. His schedule for the term and class notes told him Harkness wasn't doing so well in basic psychology or archeology, but had high marks in hard sciences. In the readout he could see an indistinct reflection of his own face that made his stomach turn.

He hurried down the curving path to the fountain and stared down at the water. He wasn't Jean-Luc Picard, of any time or reality. He looked like a pasty-faced tow-headed kid with freckles across a snub nose. Scrawny, barely filling out the uniform.

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere, junior?"

The question wasn't as gruff as Boothby's earlier scold, but Jean-Luc jumped -- apparently his reflexes were wired the way his new identity's would have been. He caught the padd before it went in the water. Boothby came up to him and looked him in the eye, then frowned.

"You're lost?"

"No," he blurted, going into shock at the sound of his voice. He'd never sounded that high-pitched and uneven in his life.

Boothby mistook the horror for something else. "You don't have to wet your drawers, son, I'm just an old groundskeeper."

Jean-Luc looked around wildly. Q was nowhere to be seen. "It isn't that. I need your help."

"*My* help? I doubt it," Boothby exclaimed with a guffaw and a snort. "You need to get back to class, kid."

Both of them turned at the sound of hurried footsteps. It became clear why Q had put him in that place and time -- a much younger, thinner Deanna Troi, in the old red-with-white-trim cadet's uniform he'd never worn thanks to graduating almost thirty years before, came into the courtyard via a breezeway that led to the next dormitory over, if he remembered correctly. She marched along, curls bobbing, in that familiar way that said she was upset and didn't care who knew it. As she left the shadows of the breezeway and came into the late afternoon sun, Boothby tut-tutted.

"She -- who is that?" Jean-Luc squeaked, hating that voice and wanting to kick Q for this madness.

"You want to know, go talk to her. I'm not a dating service," Boothby grouched, moving off to retrieve his shears from the grass near a tree and heading for a hedge.

Deanna reached the fountain. Clearing his throat, Jean-Luc made an attempt. "Hi."

She hesitated in her flight for the other end of the courtyard. Now that he could see her eyes, he could tell she was in despair, but surprised. "Hi," she replied, uncertain.

He glanced at the padd and remembered. "I'm Jonathon Harkness."

She turned to face him, a promising sign. At least she wasn't so upset she wouldn't stop for pleasantries. "Deanna Troi. Although I think we've met before. Haven't we?"

She could be reading him, he realized at last. She'd know he recognized her. "I feel like I know you," he said, then winced. "That wasn't a line."

"No," she said tentatively. "I think you must've forgotten that we've met before." There was an unexpected edge to that statement he couldn't understand.

"I don't think I would forget." He glanced at her collar. Third year. Q had done a marvelous job with this one. Harkness was second year. "Is something wrong?"

She looked around in that way people did when not wanting to confront something. "If you don't count washing out of the Academy, no, there's nothing wrong," she snapped.

"Now, there's a nice attitude," Boothby exclaimed, coming back into the conversation. He had put on his hat and held up the shears in both hands.

"I studied all night for that test! It's not fair," she cried, throwing out her arms and pacing in a small circle. "And why should I learn astronavigation anyway? I'm going to be a counselor!"

"Maybe someday you'll need to pilot a ship?"

She and Boothby gave him an incredulous look. That hadn't come out in the same vulky way his previous squawkings had.

"It's nothing you can't understand," he went on. "If you can get a degree in psychology you can figure out astronavigation. It's all cut and dried, nothing to it but calculations and geometry and learning to read the helm sensor data."

"You're second year. How do you know?" she demanded, her hard tone reminding him of her mother.

"Look, you can petition to retake the exam. I'll help you. If you help me with my psych class," he added as an afterthought.

She thought about that. "I guess," she said at last. "I should go talk to the instructor. And it still doesn't help with the rest of my exams that I'm probably going to fail."

"Which ones?"

Shoulders sagging, she eyed him skeptically. "Probably all the ones you're going to tell me you can help me with?"

Jean-Luc gaped at her, chin wagging, and shook his head. "No," he blurted, feeling inept and helpless. "That's not -- "

"I've heard it all, believe me," she exclaimed, holding up both hands to ward it off as she turned and walked away. "I don't care if you go tell all your buddies how frigid I am, I'm not interested in 'studying.'"

"Just because you're Betazoid doesn't mean you have any idea what my motives are," he shouted, alarming himself more than anything else. Channeling his frustration with Q's scenario, he stuck to the character he'd been given. "All I wanted to do was help you study and get a little help on this psychological crap they expect me to know! You think you're the only one who's having trouble?"

Boothby, eyebrows raised, took his shears and ambled off into the gardens. Deanna glared back at him across six meters of pavement, then rushed back at him.

"You want to help, do you?" The beginnings of a Death Glare in those eyes. He could deal with this. She wasn't the woman he knew, not yet; she showed too much of her anger and her voice had an uncharacteristic jagged edge to it. If he could react quickly enough, he could do this without giving away anything other than the fact that he recognized her.

Jean-Luc glanced at his reflection in the fountain. "It's about all you'd want from a guy like me, isn't it?" As he spoke, he remembered his more spectacular failures as a would-be teenaged romeo, especially the humiliation of having Caroline fling her drink on him in the middle of a cadet mixer.

It worked. Too well. The flush rising in her cheeks and her sudden interest in his boots said so. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes as if fighting a headache. "I'm sorry. I have to make it, no matter what. But this is my first year here, and I'm not doing well. I spent my first two years at the satellite campus on Betazed. It's just different here, and I'm. . . a little homesick."

"I'm sorry you're having a tough time, but you're not the only one. There are tutors available, you know."

"Right," she muttered, laughing at it. "Like the last one I tried. I'm sorry I took it out on you -- come on, let's get a cup of coffee. I'm buying. You want to teach me navigation, I might as well listen. Who knows, maybe you can actually make it sink in."

Walking with her through the Academy brought back so many memories. The halls, the classrooms, the cadets roaming the grounds in packs and cliques. He realized only as they entered the cafeteria that he hadn't yet missed his Deanna. He'd slipped into this so easily. Maybe it had something to do with being transplanted into this body. Maybe he hadn't even left his bedroom, and this was a dream state.

And then there was Q, in a cadet's uniform, grinning at him as he carried a tray past them. Jean-Luc almost ran into Deanna as she got them coffee from a replicator. "Be right back," he exclaimed, jogging after the facilitator of this strangeness.

"Enjoying your time with the cadet?" Q murmured, heading for a side door that led out on a patio.

"What the hell is this? Real? Or is this just another scenario?"

"Save the philosophy for class, Cadet," Q said. He smirked as he placed the tray on a table in the shade of an awning. "Really, Jean-Luc. Just enjoy yourself."

"Enjoy? Being. . . *this*?" He gestured at his face. "This isn't me! How am I supposed to be someone else? What if I do irreparable harm to this cadet's natural life? What is the point of this?"

Q glanced back at the exit. Deanna had come outside and stood watching them suspiciously. "You'll see, don't worry. Relax. Just do what comes naturally. Harkness won't mind."

"I can't keep up with this course work! He's in advanced engineering, I never took some of these! I could jeopardize his career," Jean-Luc muttered, too aware that he might be overheard.

"Trust me. There is no danger of that." Q smirked again and picked up his fork. "Better go, girlfriend's waiting."

Jean-Luc glared at him, then went to rejoin Deanna. "Sorry, he was supposed to have some notes for me. Where do you want to sit?"

She gestured at the nearest table, a tiny two-person round, and they sat. "Okay, Mr. Harkness, what can you tell me about navigation?"

"What do you want to know?"

She eyed him again, probably sensing some odd things from him after the chat with Q, and said, "If I'm in a shuttle doing warp two outbound from Mars how long will it take me to get to Vulcan?"

"Ah. That's a trick question. You can't do warp two outbound from Mars unless you want to lose your certification. You have to go half impulse to Neptune, where you can increase to three-quarters, until you're out of the system. There's too much traffic in the system to warp out directly. You can only do that if there's a red alert emergency in effect."

Her stunned look reminded him so much of Natalia he almost laughed. She covered her eyes with her hand, and at first he thought it was good-humored chagrin such as he was used to, but then he saw the tear run down her face.

"I'm never going to make it through this," she said. "I just failed a test by one point, and it had to be a trick question."

"So you do know the material. You're just not slowing down to think it through. What were the other ones you had trouble with?"

It was all very basic, as the course was meant to be, and as they talked other people came outside and sat around them. She seemed to lose her frustration as she worked through revised versions of problems he remembered. Slowly, she loosened up, until she actually smiled some of the time and her body language told him she'd relaxed. The cues that he'd learned to read, gradients of the slope of her shoulders and subtle shifts of facial expression, were there.

"What is it you find difficult about psych?" she asked at last, hands in her lap. Her empty coffee cup sat to one side, forgotten.

He'd forgotten as they talked that he wasn't himself, that he was supposed to be a vulky student helping a future counselor -- he'd been talking to her as he'd talked with Commander Troi while she reviewed Academy coursework in her pursuit of command. He'd even forgotten the near-falsetto of his own voice. The realization made him pause too long.

"You didn't have difficulties for me to help you with," she said, suddenly wary. The empath strikes again.

"What if I didn't? What if all I really wanted to do was help you? Why isn't it possible for a guy to actually have that motivation, with no intention to capitalize on it?" He leaned forward, knocking over what was left of his own coffee. "Not all of us think about sex all the time, you know!"

She stared incredulously at him, and he realized that he'd shouted, in the borrowed high tenor of Jonathon Harkness, at the prettiest girl present. The patio had gone completely silent. People were gawking. Embarrassed and wanting suddenly to go home, to his own Deanna in his own reality, he jumped up and took the first avenue of escape, a path that took him around the building.

He reached the James T. Kirk Memorial in front of the Academy main entrance before he stopped running. With the monument against his back, he panted and rested his head against cold stone, smiling briefly at the feel of actual hair.

"Q," he said softly. "Please stop this. It's pointless. I don't belong here, and I'm only going to damage the timeline if I'm here much longer."

No answer. He leaned there, staring at white clouds drifting overhead. What now? He considered going back to find her, but stayed where he was, watching the seagulls wheel about the square and land on the pavement.

"Hey, Hark." It didn't register right away that the shout was meant for him. A cadet trotted up, came within arm's length, and stood panting. "Hey. Way to go, Hark!"

"I don't want to talk about it."

The young man fell back, gaping. He had tousled short auburn hair and an awkwardness that said he wasn't an athlete of any stripe. "Hark, what's wrong with you?"

"Just go away, all right?" Letting his head fall back, he closed his eyes again.

"Fine."

And after the footsteps retreated, here came more. Ready to snap at the kid for coming back, Jean-Luc stepped around the corner of the granite monument to find himself looking into Deanna's eyes. Up, into her eyes. How had he missed that detail? He was shorter than she.

"You left this," she said, after long uncomfortable moments passed. She held out his padd.

"Thanks." Falling against the monument again, this time in the shade, he let his head strike it a little harder this time. "Sorry."

She joined him, putting about a foot of air space between her shoulder and his. "So am I. It's. . . not easy for me. I'm not entirely Betazoid."

He didn't have to fake surprise. "You're not?"

"No. I'm half human. It means empathy, instead of telepathy, and I'm afraid it's become too easy to associate what I sense from men with a certain. . . intention."

The confession wasn't one he would have expected her to make. "You mean, I feel an attraction, and you automatically assume that I'll jump at the chance to drag you off to my den of iniquity and chase you around in a frenzy of post-pubertal hormonal lust."

She laughed at it, but not with any conviction or force. By the end she sounded a little like she might be crying. "You have a strange way of putting it. Not what I'd expect. . . from a future engineer. Especially one who's apparently doing poorly in literature and languages."

"There's been too much stereotyping already today. I do have a decent vocabulary, for a scrawny little engineer-in-training."

"I'm sorry."

He looked at her at last. She was, indeed, crying. "What's really wrong? It's not just classes, is it?"

"No. I wouldn't be so sensitive if it weren't for. . . . Never mind. Now that I've persistently labeled you erroneously, let me buy you a drink?"

"More coffee?"

"I was thinking something harder than that. Let's go off campus. I don't feel like looking at other cadets." She looked down at herself. "I want to change first. I hate this uniform."

He followed her back to her room. Not something he would have done if he'd thought it through, but it didn't occur to him what might happen until it did. As they went down the corridors of the dormitory together groups of cadets stopped conversing and stared at them. Classes were done for the afternoon, and the evening sessions hadn't yet begun. Dinner break was in progress.

She entered the room first, waved him inside, and closed the door. For a few heart-stopping moments he thought she would change in front of him. She opened the closet and actually stepped inside, so all he saw was an occasional arm as she took off her uniform.

"You have a roommate?" He knew she had to. The second bed, near the narrow window, had a pile of laundry on it. The one closer to the door was wrinkle-free and a picture of Lwaxana sat next to it, beneath a lamp.

"I had a roommate. She washed out." Deanna stepped out of the closet, now wearing a shocking pink dress. Immediately he recalled Landis, the woman on the starbase who had called out to him -- it was the same dress. Deanna sensed his shock and he scrambled to cover the real reason for it.

"Uh, wow," he stammered, backing a few steps. "That's not what I expect. . . . I mean, we're not, um, going on a date, or something. Is it? I mean, are we?"

"Does this make you uncomfortable?"

"It, um, isn't what you really want to wear if having guys leer at you bothers you. It's really not something we could *not* notice, if you know what I'm saying."

She considered that, scrutinizing the contents of her closet, and took out a longer dress. "Would this be better?"

He rubbed his lips thoughtfully. "It's got too many. . . holes."

"Well, I don't have very many dresses with me, I'm afraid. I guess the uniform will have to do."

"Either that, or you could just put up with me. I'm not going to *do* anything, no matter what I feel."

She wore the pink dress, and the highest heels he'd ever seen. The trip back out of the dormitory set off mutters in their wake. Outside the building, she actually took his arm.

"We'll take a tram," she said. "There's a little place down near Pier 39 that I like."

"Rastigan's," he said absently, too aware of her breast bumping his arm at intervals as they walked.

"Yes," she said suspiciously, drawing away from him. "How did you know?"

"Oh. We. . . my roommate and I, we were in there once. It was the only time I was down there." That she was the 'roommate' he'd been with didn't matter. He remembered it suddenly, the way they'd walked into the place, and she'd looked around as if remembering things she didn't want to think about.

There were no cadets or officers on the tram they caught at the corner near the Kirk Memorial. She asked him questions about San Francisco and he answered diffidently, unable to keep himself from eyeing her smooth legs and how the dress clung to her figure. The trip went by in a blur.

The restaurant sat right on the ocean. He realized as they were led through the dim dining area that he had no idea whether he had a credit to his name. He glanced at the padd self-consciously and wondered if it would tell him.

"Is it really that difficult?" she asked as a waiter seated them in a booth overlooking the water. Over the waves, the sun had begun to set, turning the few wisps of cirrus into vermillion and orange banners.

"What?" he blurted, putting down the padd swiftly.

"Ignoring a woman in revealing attire."

He frowned. "How long have you been on Earth?"

"Half a semester."

"You haven't met any humans before you came here? Young, male, single ones, I mean?"

She suddenly turned mournful, wincing and pulling her napkin into her lap. "A few. So, did you want help with those classes, after all?"

Something clicked together in the back of his mind, and he understood what the pain must be. "How many psych classes have you had so far?"

"I graduated from the University of Betazed before I started the Academy courses. I'm working on my thesis concurrently with my classes here."

She'd met Will on Betazed, as a psychology student. That explained so much of her defensiveness, and her tears. Jean-Luc tried to put down the wave of sympathetic hurt before she noticed.

"So you're probably older than most of the guys at the Academy," he said. "Twenty-two?"

"By your calendar, twenty-four." She smiled politely at the waiter for bringing menus and took one. He took the other padd and checked his own before looking at the items on the menu.

"Maybe you should get something to eat. It's dinner time, after all. Do you have classes later?"

"No. I don't even know if I want to go to class tomorrow."

He put down the menu and looked her in the eye, and she noticed the change in his demeanor at once. They sat in the quiet of the restaurant, the murmur of other diners around them, and outside the sun sank further toward the water.

"You know," he said, crossing his arms on the table in front of him. "I think you'll go back to class and graduate with honors. I think you'll be the best counselor in the fleet, and a good officer. I'd say you'd do it to spite the guys who all look at you and see nothing but a great pair of legs and a pretty face, but I don't think you're the type. A girl like you walking through a dorm with a guy like me, not caring what anyone else thinks, doesn't have a damn thing to prove. You'll be good at what you do because you can, and you want to, and that's all you really need to make it."

It surprised her, and her eyes glittered; she resorted to dabbing at the corners with her napkin. Clearing her throat, she said, "What makes you say that?"

"Because you've got the right idea. You don't seem to care what people look like, just what their motives are."

She glanced out the window, at the table's gleaming green surface, and shook her head, frowning. "I misinterpret them too often for my own good, though."

"So do we all. No one's perfect."

A weak smile. "You don't sound like any cadet I've ever met, Jon." She looked up when he felt startlement at the name. "Can I call you Jon?"

"Well, usually. . . people call me Hark, or Harkness. My folks call me Jonathon. But you can call me Jon, if you want."

The waiter came back. She ordered something to eat. He picked the first thing on the menu, unable to think clearly about it -- her choice of name set him on edge. Uncanny. The dress, the name, the situation.

After an hour of leisurely chatting, during which he learned a lot of what he already knew about her and he fabricated a life for Harkness, he excused himself and found the men's room. When the other occupant left, he leaned on the sink and whispered, "Q? Get in here."

The flare reflected from the mirror and the gleaming silver fixtures. "You rang, mon capitaine?"

"Is this real or one of your fantasies?"

Q wore a cadet's uniform, and looked ridiculous. He shrugged, smiling in his usual wily way.

"When is this going to be over with?"

He shrugged again. Maddening as he could be when he spoke, Q being silent bothered Jean-Luc more.

"Q, please, can't you just send me home?"

He glanced at the door, losing his smirk. "I think you'd better go -- your seat is being stolen."

It propelled Jean-Luc from the restroom and around the darkened restaurant. Deanna was still seated, but looked up at a large man who stood at the end of the table. The man turned.

What the hell?

"Uh, Capt. . . . Sir?" Jean-Luc stammered, unable to remember what rank Jellico would be at this date.

The much-younger, somewhat-drunk Jellico swayed and glanced from his face to his cadet's uniform to Deanna. His face went a little pastier than it was. "You're with this cadet?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at Jean-Luc.

"He's helping me with my studying. I'm having a bit of trouble with astronavigation," Deanna said.

"Asto. . . astro. . . you're a cadet," he stated as if having trouble with that concept, or his tongue. This was before synthehol, Jean-Luc realized.

"Yes." Deanna's puzzled eyes flicked to Jean-Luc. She didn't know Jellico was an officer. He was in civvies, a shit-brown suit that hung loosely on him.

"Oh, hell," he blurted, reeling off in a new direction and stumbling on the leg of a chair belonging to a nearby table. He fell heavily on his stomach and vomited loudly.

"Uh. . . a walk," Jean-Luc said, gesturing at the exit. "On the beach? Anywhere but here. . . ."

"Right." Deanna slid out of her chair, snatched up her purse and his padd, and they hurried for the door, stopping long enough to argue over who paid the bill. He won. As they went down the sidewalk in front of closed shops, he began to laugh at it.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Jellico," Jean-Luc exclaimed. "Lieutenant-Commander, I think. Bloody hell. Jellico. No wonder. . . ."

"What? What's so funny?"

He kept laughing, not even caring any more about the funny high-pitched voice he had to do it in. "It's a long story."

"We've got time." She stopped under one of the street lamps. It brought his mirth to a slow halt, and he ran his hand over his head, backtracking to run his fingers through his hair. Odd feeling.

"Thank you," he said.

"What for?"

"Being a friend. It's not easy, you know? Especially knowing that most of the people we make friends with at the Academy will go out into the unknown, and who knows how many will come back. . . ." He turned and looked up at the stars. Thanks to the half-moon, there weren't many visible. "Beautiful night."

"You're the oddest cadet I've ever talked to, Jon. And not because of how you look -- I don't understand why you think you look so unappealing in the first place. You keep talking about it like there's something wrong with you."

He snorted. "A lot of humans are like that. Superficial. Especially now, when. . . we're not quite mature, and not quite who we will be."

"You're not superficial."

"I'm odd, you said."

"Not in a bad way. I like that you can talk to me with almost no leering."

He turned to look at her, and because he had stepped off the curb and stood in the street, he found himself eyeballing her breasts. "Almost. Like I said, being confronted with it at every turn makes it tough."

"So it's true," she said, stepping off the curb. With the heels and his being shorter anyway, she still looked down at him. "Human men are visually-stimulated."

"You thought it was just a rumor?" He shrugged and sidled away from her. "It's probably the first thing on the list, but it isn't the only thing. You have to take into account the goal, too -- most of the guys at the Academy aren't looking for long-term. You could. . . probably have a lot of fun, if you wanted."

She stood too still beneath the pale yellow glow of the lamp, most of her face in shadow. "I don't."

Jean-Luc nodded. "Lucky guy, wherever he is," he said carefully.

"He's a damn bastard," she spat, shocking him with the force of it. "Damn. . . bastard." Putting a hand to her mouth, she stepped back up on the curb and leaned on the lamp post, back to him. He watched her stand that way, glad that her bowed head didn't permit any light to strike her face and thus hid her expression from him.

"Yes," he said at last. "If he hurt you that much."

"Let's go," she whispered, coming to take his arm again.

They walked back to the Academy, up and down hills. Halfway up the first hill she took off her shoes. He carried them for her, with her purse, and let her lean on him. She didn't seem inclined to talk, but at least she didn't cry again.

She stopped in front of the Kirk Memorial, now a tall black obelisk, one side lit by the pale moon. "He was supposed to meet me, on Risa," she murmured. "He stood me up."

"I'm sorry."

"No, Jon, you're not sorry -- he is. Sorry excuse for a man."

"Somehow, I think, if you fell for him, he must be worth something. Sometimes it's not who we are, it's more a matter of where we are and how the circumstances appear to us."

She inhaled, with a throb in her throat. "I wish I could be so sure of that."

"You'll probably be able to call him a friend some day. Time does that."

"You sound like Boothby."

"Then he's pretty smart, for a groundskeeper." Jean-Luc handed her the shoes and purse. "After you've gone exploring the galaxy and had a lot of adventures, you'll find yourself a fellow officer, maybe one you've known for a while. He'll hand you his heart on a platter, and he'll bring you Delavian chocolates, Argelian silk gowns, and recordings of your favorite music, whether he likes to listen to it or not, because he'll want nothing more than to make you smile."

She laughed, but it was a half-sob. "I don't suppose you know his name? I have the feeling I'm going to need a very clear sign. I've been stupid about it so far."

He shook his head vehemently, refraining from further comment. She was kidding. She thought he was kidding. He'd already said too much, if this were real. "Good night."

"You aren't going back to the dormitory?"

"I. . . don't live on campus, actually." He'd been treading on thin ice all evening, and giving her what she would perceive as a lie now would ruin it all. Harkness probably did live in the dorm, but he couldn't say that convincingly.

An awkward pause. "Thanks, for everything. See you later," she said, making it almost a question.

"Absolutely. Good luck on that exam."

"Thanks. Maybe I'll help you with yours tomorrow, over lunch or something."

"That sounds good to me. Sleep well." When he glanced back, she'd gone already. He reached the corner. Q was waiting for him, leaning against a lamp post. Grinning. Jean-Luc held up the padd.

"He doesn't exist?"

"He did, long enough to matter. Was it enough of an apology?"

Jean-Luc sighed heavily, shaking his head in resignation. "Yes, Q. It was. Thank you." Hopefully that would be enough to satisfy Q so he'd return Jean-Luc to his family.

"Such a long face, Jean-Luc. You helped her. I thought you'd enjoy that," he exclaimed, standing away from the pole.

"Helped her, yes, but it wasn't exactly what I'd call enjoyable."

"What would make it enjoyable?"

Jean-Luc tossed the padd at him. "Take me home."

But as he caught the padd, Q's head went up as if he were listening for something. "Did you hear that?"

"Look, this has been quite enough -- "

"I could have sworn I heard a Betazoid in trouble."

Jean-Luc stared at the entity, hating him and the loss of control he represented, and walked back the way he'd come. "This is ridiculous -- it's got to be one of your fantasies. The damned dress, Jellico, all of it. It's got to be something you've created."

"But you can't not act, because you don't know that, and how do you know you aren't ruining the timeline by not acting? How do you know you're not *supposed* to be here?" Q pranced alongside him, full of glee. When Jean-Luc glared at him he vanished and reappeared on the top of the wall, lounging smugly propped up on one elbow. "Is it truly Deanna, or is it a figment of your infatuation?"

"I know you enjoy being annoying but it's a very poor way of 'making it up to me,' Q," Jean-Luc exclaimed, jogging past the monument and down the path toward the dormitories. As he passed under a tree, Q appeared on the path in front of him in the captain's uniform from Jean-Luc's time.

"Timelines aren't set in stone, you've realized that before," he exclaimed, gesturing down the right branch of the junction of pathways. "Doing something you might think of as disruptive may actually be the right thing -- by your standards. Or maybe you're right and nothing is better. Remember the anomaly you created out of your own good intentions?"

Jean-Luc hesitated, trying to remember which path led to where, and heard a distant shout. He took the right path at a run. Q stood at the next junction, pointing left, and this time Jean-Luc took it without comment.

He found himself going through the well-lit breezeway Deanna had come through earlier, into the courtyard near the fountain and the rose garden. Deanna had gotten that far and been confronted by three young men and a woman. Jean-Luc stopped inside the breezeway and watched one of the men talking to Deanna while the others hung back.

"It's too bad she can't fight well," Q said, hovering over Jean-Luc's shoulder -- he'd appeared without warning behind him. "She'd be tempted to hit him. Of course, she doesn't believe that fighting solves anything."

It was the young man who'd come running up to 'Hark' at the memorial. If Harkness wasn't real, how had this kid known who he was? Or had the first appearance been Q masquerading as the kid, just to confuse the issue?

"This is ridiculous," Jean-Luc muttered. "Is this real, Q? Is Harkness a real person?"

"He's real enough."

"That's not an acceptable answer. If you don't tell me what the actual stakes are in this, I refuse to play the game any longer. Who is Jonathan Harkness?"

Q leaned and spoke in Jean-Luc's ear. "It's the sixth of June. Harkness will get on a late shuttle bound for the moon to visit his family, and in one of the most spectacular light shows of the century it will explode due to a poorly-maintained engine. He's a little worm who would never intervene on the behalf of another life form, hardly developed at all, not even to your quaint level of ethics. I'm really doing him a favor in borrowing his identity on your behalf."

Deanna tried to walk around the fountain to avoid the kid harassing her. He raced the other way and confronted her again. "Leave me alone, Caleb," she shouted, the words echoing around the courtyard.

Caleb Haymore. The cadet who had tormented her out of spite -- blaming her for their group failing a survival test. Jean-Luc clenched his fists and restrained himself. He'd met Caleb during the crisis at Galisi; he'd been second officer of the *Valiant.* The crisis she nearly hadn't survived. Even years in the future Caleb had nothing but disdain for her, and after the confrontation with the Maquis he'd departed at a starbase while she remained a prisoner in sickbay. Jean-Luc had made a point of avoiding contact with him after the mission, except for a debriefing with the rest of the away team, at which Caleb had said nothing about her brave actions and everything about his leading the security officers in to capture the Maquis while deLio stayed with Data and Deanna, the wounded.

"Come on, Caleb," one of the others called, interrupting Jean-Luc's musings. "Leave 'er alone. Let's go."

"Hey, this 'cute fem' as you put it wrecked my grade for the survival course. She owes me."

Jean-Luc strode forward and left the wandering path to make a straighter course to intercept.

"Hey, Hark! I thought you had a lot of studying to do," one of the onlookers cried, making it a taunt by the tone of voice.

"Glad you're here, you can help finish what you started with little miss nerve ending," Caleb exclaimed. Deanna whirled, staring at him, the light from a nearby lamp illuminating the horror and betrayal in her face.

That she might think he'd been in on something with Caleb was unbearable, even if she didn't know who he really was. "Leave her alone."

"It was your grade too, Hark," Caleb shouted. Thus making clear her initial behavior -- she'd recognized him. He had behaved so differently that it had puzzled her.

"It wasn't her fault." He fought to control and lower Harkness' high-pitched voice.

"What d'you mean it wasn't her fault? She called for retrieval! Just because she suffered because of her 'empathy' and couldn't block out a stupid broken bone, because Zi was stupid enough to fall out of a damned tree?"

"You failed the test when you didn't consider the welfare of your teammate over the test result. It wasn't her fault. Leave her alone."

Caleb stared as if he'd grown an extra head. So did Deanna -- she backed away from both of them, coming up against the lamp post. "You don't have to defend me," she said.

"But it wasn't your fault -- it's supposed to be a group effort!" Jean-Luc exclaimed. "He wasn't acting out of concern for the team. All he cared about was the grade, and if that's all he ever cares about, he won't get far in his career. Once you're out in space it isn't about grades any more, it's about working together -- you can't do it all by yourself, you have to rely on other people!"

"Good God, it's Super Cadet!" Caleb brayed, laughing. "Hark, you're kidding me, right? All you've ever cared about is learning how to make it to Utopia where you can build all those stupid-looking vessels you keep scribbling on your padd in basic psych."

"Leave her alone," Jean-Luc repeated sternly, or tried to. The borrowed voice thwarted the attempt.

"You're really starting to annoy me. Here I thought you were working on revenge and all along you're. . . . Hey, now, not that lusting after a pretty decent set is so bad." Caleb held up his hands and backed away as Jean-Luc crept forward, attempting menace and knowing the short stature and squeaky voice made him look ridiculous.

"Apologize to her and leave her alone."

The onlookers recognized trouble when they saw it and dispersed quickly. The female cadet even ran -- possibly going to report a brawl in the courtyard before someone got hurt. Fighting could get cadets expelled. Of course, in Harkness' case, that didn't matter, did it?

"Stop it," Deanna shouted.

As if her plea challenged him to, Caleb pushed him. The trouble with the borrowed body -- it wasn't the one Jean-Luc was used to, and was too easily pushed by someone as scrawny as Caleb.

It worked well enough, however. The punch he threw hurt his hand more than his opponent -- Caleb stumbled backward holding his nose, more surprised than anything else, and Jean-Luc refused to shake his hand the way he wanted to, though his knuckles throbbed. Then Haymore charged him.

He dodged, tripping the furious cadet. Caleb sprawled on the pavement, rolled, swore, and came back with a shout. Jean-Luc tried to dodge again but wasn't fortunate that time. Caleb's hands gripped the front of the uniform. His momentum carried them, Jean-Luc stumbled under the other cadet's greater weight, and suddenly they were in the fountain, freezing-cold water rushing up around him.

They thrashed and yelled, wrestling around in sodden uniforms trying to get a grip on each other, and Jean-Luc heard Deanna yelling too. And then two security officers hauled them out of the water.

"That kid tried to kill me," Caleb sputtered.

"Self defense," Jean-Luc cried, letting the squeak happen as it would. The lieutenant holding him by the collar let go; he almost fell down trying to sit on the edge of the fountain, shivering and dripping and peering up at the officers as if terrified of them.

"Haymore pushed him," Deanna said, pointing at Caleb. "Because he wanted him to apologize to me."

"He wouldn't leave her alone," Jean-Luc put in.

"Is anyone hurt?" the lieutenant asked wearily, probably tired of nonsense from cadets.

"Just wet," Jean-Luc said, though the back of his head hurt and he was certain his right wrist had been sprained.

"I'm all right." Caleb probably didn't want to admit anything, either.

"Well, Mr. Haymore, you've just won an escort back to your room. Lieutenant?" The lieutenant-commander watched the other officer herd Caleb away. He looked 'Harkness' over and glanced at Deanna. "I'll overlook this exactly once, Cadet. Take your girlfriend home and don't get into any more fights. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!"

They watched the security officer disappear through the breezeway. Deanna exhaled, sounding for all the world like an upset mother. "You're drenched -- you'll get sick if you don't change. Why don't you come back to my room and replicate something dry? You can use my account."

"I'm fine. Honestly."

"Why did you do that? I thought you were his friend. I thought -- "

"It wasn't fair," Jean-Luc insisted. "He shouldn't blame you for what happened."

She stood over him in the absurdly-tiny dress, finally bending to take his hand. "You really did forget. Didn't you? You don't remember what happened during the survival test? Because you wouldn't have behaved the way you did today otherwise. You don't remember laughing at me, or saying nothing while I argued with Caleb over what to do. You don't remember saying nothing useful when the officers debriefed us afterward, to protect your friend?"

Jean-Luc knew when she dropped his hand that she sensed his pain at hearing that. He stood up, shivering at the cold, and fumbled with the clasps of the drenched jacket. "People change, Deanna. Maybe not soon enough, maybe not often enough. But they can, if they really want to."

When he met her gaze for the first time since the altercation began, he saw that she was crying. His hands fell idle at the sight of her dark eyes, wide and glittering in the scant light of the lamp overhead.

"This drastically?"

"It's possible," he said, hoping he could get away with it. So far he'd been able to tell enough of the truth that she wouldn't sense a lie. He knew why she hardly believed it -- Harkness didn't sound like the sort of person who would be capable of such a dramatic change in so short a time. "I'll walk you back to your room. Okay? You're cold."

"So are you." She went with him. The dormitory was quiet, most of the doors closed, and they reached her room without incident. Jean-Luc was startled to see Q lounging on the second bed, but when Deanna looked askance at Jean-Luc, he realized she couldn't see the entity.

At least the room was warm. The sodden uniform felt heavy. "Good night, again," he said, staying in the door.

She stood in front of him, pensive. "Why were you coming back on campus? I thought you were going home."

"I wanted to tell you," he began, hunting for something to say and tugging at the wet jacket, "that, that. . . ."

"You love her and think she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen," Q exclaimed helpfully, leaping off the bed.

"I was afraid of Caleb," he said at last. "I laughed and said nothing because I was afraid of losing one of the only friends I had. But, I realized that he wasn't that good of a friend -- if it'd been me who got hurt and not Zi, he would've done the same thing. You would've called for help. So I wanted to help you with the astronavigation test. Not that you really needed it."

Q shook his head as Deanna thought about that. "You're ruining it, Jean-Luc. Tell her she's everything you've ever dreamed of in a girl."

"I see," she said at last, not hearing Q, obviously. She sounded confused. "You really thought that even after I told you off in the cafeteria two days after the test?"

"Oh, get with it, Romeo," Q crowed, waving his arms. "Come on, Johnny, romance the girl!"

The hardest part was keeping his eyes on her face instead of Q's gesturing. "People change."

"But I sensed your intent. You wanted to embarrass me." It made him wonder what had happened in the cafeteria, and just how much benefit of the doubt she'd been extending him.

"I don't want that. . . any more."

She frowned and looked him up and down. "You should do something about those clothes. Jon, why are you. . . ." She sensed the way he felt, he realized again, and kicked himself for not recognizing it sooner. He'd been too caught up in ignoring Q and forgotten to be on his guard against the wrong emotions.

"I keep telling you," Q cried. "Where's that ladykiller you used to be?"

"I'm sorry," Jean-Luc whispered, backing from the room. "Good night." He closed the door on one last view of her, standing with startled eyes as Q disappeared behind her.

"This way," Q called, appearing down the hall and waving a hand in a come-hither gesture. Anxious to return home, Jean-Luc followed him without hesitation.

"When are we going to end this?" Jean-Luc exclaimed as they left the dorm by a side exit. He stopped as the door slid shut, shocked again by his own voice. Hurrying to the nearest lamp pole, he stood in the pale yellow glow and gaped at his new identity's body, feeling the collar for a clue to rank. A deep, rolling bass and the broad chest, and admiral's bars.

"Come this way, Admiral," Q said. The entity strolled over with hands behind his back. He, too, was dressed in an admiral's uniform. "We have yet another surprise dorm inspection to conduct."

"Can I at least know where we're going?"

"We're going to Jonathan's room, of course." Q led him along the winding path to the next building. Along the way, Jean-Luc felt his own chin and laughed. He had a beard like Riker's.

"Who am I supposed to be now?"

They reached another entrance to another dorm. Q depressed the lock and the door opened. At the fourth room on the left, Q stood back and indicated the door.

Jean-Luc eyed the entity. "You're sure this isn't going to damage --"

"Oh, will you just relax Jean-Luc? I'm not going to ruin your precious timeline! In fact, I'm respecting your wish to take care of poor Mr. Harkness. You didn't think his roommate would let him get away with what you've done, did you?"

"You mean Caleb is his *roommate?*"

"Yes, sir."

Q now looked like Jonathan Harkness. From his new vantage point, Jean-Luc thought he looked very small and weak. "And why would Mr. Harkness bring an admiral home with him?"

"Caleb never knew Mr. Harkness had an admiral for an uncle."

"Does he?"

"Of course he does! An uncle by marriage is still an uncle. He doesn't like to brag about it. Not to mention he never speaks to his uncle. The admiral is on a deep space station, at the moment. This little visit came as a surprise to him. Me, I mean. I guess I should get my luggage now so I'm not late to the shuttle docks." Q's voice turned high-pitched and nervous as he spoke. He slapped the lock and the door opened.

Caleb sprang out, grabbing Harkness by the collar. "There you are, you little shitfaced -- "

"CADET!" It rang in the walls -- deeper and louder than his real voice, and so much more satisfying than the squeaky voice of Harkness. It felt much more natural and less confining to bark at a cadet rather than be one. Jean-Luc straightened, composing himself into a captain's -- admiral's -- demeanor. A commanding officer's, by any definition.

Caleb dropped his soon-to-be-former roommate and came to attention. Doors opened up and down the hall and tousled heads peered out sleepily.

"Get your things, Jonathon," Jean-Luc exclaimed. While Harkness leaped into the room, Caleb stammered something incoherent.

Entertaining brief notions of vengeance and dismissing all of them, Jean-Luc settled for a stern glare, and strode away when his 'nephew' reappeared with a bag over one shoulder.

"Bye, Caleb! See you in a few days! I'm going to my family reunion!" Harkness shrieked.

Jean-Luc hurried down the hall, too aware of cadets looking out open doors at them, and stepped out the exit --

~^~^~^~^~

 

Jean-Luc blinked and held up his hands.

"Why do you always look at your hands first?" Q said, tsking. "As if they'll tell you something you don't already know."

"They're my hands -- it tells me I'm not a cadet or an admiral." And it was his uniform, on his own body. Everything was as he'd left it except for Q leaning against the bookcase and the neatly-wrapped gifts on the table. "I'm surprised you played the part of Harkness so straight. Could it be I'm having an influence on you?"

Q laughed. "Oh, no! I'm sure Caleb appreciated the goat in his bed and the sudden disappearance of all his uniforms and replicator credits. He'll look splendid showing up for breakfast in a gold lame gown, don't you think?" He brought a hand to his ear and leaned toward the door. "Hark! What Betazoid beyond yon -- "

"Q!"

"I suppose that means I've worn out my welcome. Apology accepted?"

"Yes, thank you, go away!"

As Q disappeared, the door opened in the living room, and seconds later Deanna appeared in the bedroom door, looking at the wrapped gifts on the table, the baby in her arms. His Deanna, not the young, thin woman with lingering pain in the backs of her eyes.

He smiled and wrapped his arms around both of them. "Happy birthday, cygne."

"But it's not," she blurted. "Jean?"

"Surprise," he said, kissing her hair. "Here, let me take him -- go open presents."

She handed over Yves, shooting him a puzzled look. Probably the emotional residue of his trip to San Francisco and the unusual amount of pleasure he felt upon seeing his family intact had caught her attention. "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, yes. Very much so. Sit down. Open."

"Well, if you insist," she said mildly, smiling again and taking the chair he pulled out for her. Eager as she was, it took seconds for her to pull apart the boxes. At least Q had done a good job wrapping them. She held up the pale blue gown, running her hand down it appreciatively.

"Argelian silk," he said when she looked up.

"It's beautiful, Jean-Luc, thank you," she murmured, letting it fall into her lap and reaching for the other box. "Delavian chocolates! Jean, where did you find them? They're. . . ."

She froze, the lid in hand, the box in the other, staring at them with her mouth open.

"Cygne?"

"They're just. . . ." She put down the box and reached for an item set among the morsels. "And this is. . . music. The Manalvain String Quintet. You don't even like. . . ."

"Is something wrong, Dee?"

She dropped the music. Both hands flew to her mouth. Jean-Luc pulled out another chair and sat with her, quieting Yves.

"What's wrong?"

"I never saw him again," she murmured, hands dropping to her lap and absently picking up the gown. "I don't understand. How did he know?"

"Who?"

"Jon. . . ." She stared at him, and for a few tense seconds, he thought she'd put it together. "Just someone I met, once. A long time ago. He said that someday I'd meet someone who would buy me chocolates and a silk gown."

"They're not terribly unusual gifts, Dee. He was probably just trying to make a good impression. Maybe he wanted to get them for you himself, but he was too shy."

"No, it wasn't like that. He was just a friend." She reached for the third present, startling him -- he had had only two boxes. She drew out a scrap of pink material that when shaken out became the cursed tiny dress. "This. . . dress. You wouldn't get me this -- Jean-Luc?"

Bereft of an explanation, he hated Q for this and tried not to. She turned to him, incredulous.

"I was wearing this, when I went out for dinner with. . . Jon. Where did you get it?"

"Who was this Jon?" Not difficult to sound irritated.

"He was just a cadet, with a squeaky voice and a funny way of saying things. He helped me pass my astronavigation exam."

"That's all?" When she scowled, he added, "You were wearing this dress."

"He didn't do anything. All he wanted was to help. I think because he wanted to make up for what he did." She eyed the dress, dropped it in the box, and shoved it away as if finding it distasteful. "He was one of the cadets on that fateful survival test with me. He was also Caleb's roommate."

"And your friend?"

"He might have been. He died in a shuttle accident the next day."

"Well, if all he did was help you study, he's probably in the minority. You probably had every post-pubertal human male in the Academy trying to lure you into their dens of iniquity."

Now her chin dropped. "The same. . . how? How did you do this?"

"Look what you've done," he said when Yves wailed in response to her exclamation. "There, there, Maman wasn't yelling at you, ssshh. . . ."

"Jean-Luc, how?" she demanded softly when the baby quieted.

"How what?"

"How did you know?"

"I didn't. The dress was a fluke, something the clerk threw in as a bonus," he said, finally hitting upon something truthful enough. "Are you going to try it on?"

She exhaled noisily, but her ire faded. "Well, I suppose. The gown, or the dress? Though I think the dress is too small."

"Cygne, it doesn't matter what you wear. You will always be as beautiful to me as the first time we met."

"And which time would that be?" She made it a challenge.

Detecting an imminent diaper change, he stood, but leaned to kiss her before heading for the nursery. "You mean you don't remember? Deebird, I'm absolutely crushed."

When he returned from changing and putting the baby down for a nap, she wore the robe and had music playing softly as she ate chocolates, sitting cross-legged on the bed. He sat, smiling at the happiness in her eyes.

"So if you're leaving Mars for Vulcan at warp two, how long will it take you to get there?" he asked.

Selecting a chocolate, she stuck it in his mouth. "Probably as long as it will take me to pry answers out of you."

"I can be bribed. Ask me how." He leaned, looking down the low-cut front of the gown.

"I don't think I'll have to ask. Some things don't change so much as some of us like to pretend. Human males are still easily stimulated visually."

"We don't generally like it to end there, however."

She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. "It was Q, wasn't it?"

"Too easy to guess."

"Not really." She pointed at a viewport. Q leaned into view, waving. Jean-Luc waved him away, and he vanished in his traditional flare of white light. "You tamed him," Deanna exclaimed.

"Oh, no. I doubt that. Call it a temporary truce. He was apologizing, he said, for what the other Q did the last time we saw him."

She pursed her lips, her expression darkening for a bit at the thought of that incident. "Did Q somehow put you in Jon's place?"

"Unfortunately. Only slightly better than putting me there as myself."

"You risked tampering." Her hand dropped lightly over his. "If you had said anything else to me about Will, you might have changed things. Maybe drastically."

"Or maybe you would have exhibited the same good sense you've always had, and anything I did was merely reassurance of a friend."

"Maybe." Her smile returned. "You've always been that. I've always appreciated it. Maybe it wasn't your idea, but thank you for being there, just the same. I know it wasn't easy for you."

"Doesn't matter now. This isn't the music I gave you."

"No, it's the recording I made of your 'Ode to a Swan.' I can listen to the other later, I was more in the mood for this."

"Hm." He tugged at the gown, frowning at the ankle-length skirt. "I should have gotten you a shorter one. I'm going to find something to cut this with."

"You could take it off."

"Ah. Such a simple solution. And here I am trying to redesign it. Maybe I should've been an engineer."

"Jean-Luc. . . ."

"Yes, cygne?"

"Never mind. Chocolate?"

"To eat, or wear?"

~^~^~^~^~

 

"Are you sure this is all right?" Deanna murmured as they strolled down the corridor toward the grand ballroom.

Jean-Luc glanced at her and smiled. "Of course. You look wonderful."

"You realize what's going to happen."

The midnight-blue dress clung to her like a second skin, leaving most of her back exposed and confining her breasts in a way that made them appear to be struggling for freedom when she moved, though the neckline was quite modest. The long sleeves were half-netting, from the elbows to the backs of her hands, and the skirt flared at the knee. She'd been creative with her hair; most of it was braided and pinned to the back of her head, with curls dangling artfully around her face.

"They'll be so impressed, they'll change the dress uniform for women," he said, placing a possessive hand in the small of her back. They hesitated at the entrance. White everywhere, gold braid and departmental-colored grace notes punctuating the monotony. A handful of women had worn gowns. Soft music came from the grove of potted trees in the corner; there appeared to be a seated ensemble nestled among them. The hall glittered blindingly between the bright light and the decorations. Someone had gotten carried away with gold accents.

"I should have come in uniform," Deanna murmured, backing a step.

"No. Absolutely not."

"But -- "

"Don't do this here, Deebird. We've already gone through this. You're on leave, you're here as my wife. Dress for the role."

She sighed, still pleading with her eyes. "But to them I'm still your first officer and I'm -- "

"This is an admiralty ball. Not all captains are invited to these damned things, and first officers don't get to come at all. See, there's Beverly, in one of her more brilliant dresses. You're not the only commander out of uniform."

They stepped inside, smiling, and she turned back to him after scanning the room with a look that cried for mercy. {It's like a memorial service! Is it this quiet all night?}

{Just smile at the admirals, cygne. For the good of the Federation.}

Luckily, someone approached before she could respond. They exchanged pleasantries with the Vulcan ambassador, Starik, then moved on.

Jean-Luc watched people's reactions to them, measuring the way they greeted Deanna. She glanced at him each time they moved on as if questioning his sanity. Beverly gave them the same incredulous look when they stopped briefly to greet her and Tom on their way to the bar.

"Why did you suggest I wear this dress, Jean-Luc?" she asked after they chose drinks and the bartender moved away to make them. Jean-Luc knew that deadly calm -- the warning of the angry wife. Her head turned so swiftly her long glittering earrings danced. The glare was a low-intensity one, not quite a death glare yet. A warning shot. "You've never dictated my wardrobe before, except for the wedding. What's going on? Why do I get the feeling I'm being used for something?"

Taking her arm in his fingers as if it might crumple easily, he led her further down the gleaming white bar, away from Admiral Ross and Captain Sadek. "I would like to prove a point to you."

"A point."

"I told you once upon a time that people can change, but there are some important aspects that remain constant. Whether you wear a short pink dress, an exquisite gown, or a uniform, you will always be an example of Starfleet's finest."

She cocked her head and smiled slyly. "Is that the only reason you wanted me to dress like this?"

"Mmm, no, but we won't discuss that in public."

"I have difficulty believing you would want me to dress this way for an official function."

"Official, and safe. This crowd isn't likely to do much more than look."

"Do you think I'm dangerous, then?" She came too close, predatory in a way he hadn't seen her look in a long time. "That I'll attract the wrong sort of attention?"

"I think you might. Especially if you prowl around looking like that."

Her drink arrived. She picked it up and studied the multi-colored contents of the glass. "But you still want me to wear it."

"Would you have worn it if I weren't here?"

The circle of argument wore her patience thin. She raised her head slightly, challenging him. "I wouldn't be here if you weren't."

Taking his drink as it was placed on the bar, Jean-Luc strolled away casually, Deanna following him. "You enjoy dressing to kill. Wear what you want. You always did before."

"Before what?"

"Before me. Your wardrobe shouldn't be dictated by anyone else's preference. Besides, you're my wife, you're supposed to make me look good."

"When did you become vain?" she muttered suspiciously, tucking a hand under his arm.

"Vanity has nothing to do with it. I simply wanted the brass to understand why I was willing to take such risks with my career," he said, gesturing vaguely with his drink at the throng of dress uniforms milling about the room. "Not that they'll understand completely just by looking at you, of course, but -- "

"Jean, you can't be serious."

"Why is it so important for you to know why I suggested you wear it? Can't I simply like the way you look?"

Deanna arced an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips. "Not in public. It's not like you."

"Must you always complicate things endlessly?"

"I'm not the one dodging a simple question at every turn. This is an official function and the last thing I'd expect you to suggest would be a dress so form-fitting that taking a deep breath makes the seams creak."

Jean-Luc looked around again, nodding in passing to an admiral going by. The soft music played on behind the murmur of conversation; he noted the ratio of men to women, of humans to non, and sighed at the preponderance of men in the supposedly-diverse upper echelons of Starfleet. There was Worf, there were the Vulcans and Andorians and representatives of other worlds, and Lwaxana was due to arrive any time. But that was the ambassadorial contingent, the un-uniformed. Nechayev looked as much the Iron Maiden as ever, her fixed polite smile in place. Most other admirals present were as human and as dour as she; visible exceptions totaled exactly six. There were four female captains present -- if that was a ratio representative of all the captains in the fleet, it was a disturbing one. Equally disturbing that two of the four seemed angry, the other two politely bored, and all four looked older than they probably were.

"You don't have to wear a uniform to gain respect," he said, turning back to his wife. "Your captain takes you seriously no matter what you wear, and your husband will be around to make certain no one forgets it."

"Well," she huffed.

"I know, you don't need my defense. But you deserve it as much as I deserve your consideration for my feelings and my reputation. I'm just as proud of my wife as I am of my first officer, why can't I bring her along to liven up the hours I have to spend wearing a stasis-enforced smile for admirals?"

Her jaw dropped briefly, springing back into a smile. "So if I wanted to kiss you in front of the admirals and ambassadors and those journalists in the back of the room, you wouldn't complain?"

He almost dropped the drink as he sipped it. When he could, he said, "You can *want* all you like, cygne. I don't think you would try it -- you've always been so strict about public displays of affection."

"Yes, although, this isn't the ship, and none of these people are our subordinates, and. . . . Oh."

Her sudden sobering made him follow her gaze, and he found himself face to face with Jellico. "Admiral," he exclaimed, taking out Polite Smile #4, greet someone you know only on a professional basis. "Good evening. I believe you know my first officer, Commander Troi?"

Jellico also wore #4, and held a large amber drink. His eyes flicked to Deanna's face pointedly. "Commander. You look lovely this evening."

"Thank you," Deanna said.

An older woman in a black gown with a broad white off-the-shoulder collar approached. Her short silver hair might have once been golden, judging from her pale complexion and blue eyes. She tucked a hand through Jellico's arm and put on a polite smile as well, only more genuine than Jellico's.

"My wife, Emily," Jellico said. "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Commander Deanna Troi, from the *Enterprise.*"

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jellico," Deanna said. "We seem to be in the minority -- that's a lovely dress."

"Thank you. What an exquisite little silver pendant." She leaned closer, peering at it. "Is it a bird?"

"A swan," Deanna replied. "It was a birthday present from my husband."

Emily's hand went to her own necklace, a gaudy string of glittering pale blue gems. Her smile thinned. "Captain Picard, it's an honor to meet you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Jellico, but the honor is mine. Have you traveled far to attend?"

"Edward and I were visiting Betazed before we came here, so it wasn't far as it might have been. It's my first time away from Earth in many years so we thought we would indulge in some sight-seeing."

"What did you see on Betazed? We were there six months ago," Jean-Luc asked.

"We toured a few of the Houses -- the third and the fifth, and the second, I think," the admiral said. "The Holy Rings reminded me of a wind chime I used to have on our back porch."

"That's actually not far from what they were used for," Deanna said, smiling warmly to make up for startling the admiral out of his brief moment of humor. "Long ago, that is. When the old superstitions were still in practice. They were used as a soothsaying device. Prophets would string them up in the appropriate type of tree in the right season and decipher the music they would make in the breeze. It's very melodic -- I tried it when I was a child."

"When you were. . . ."

"Yes. My mother was preoccupied with guests, and I snuck in and took them from the case. I wanted to see if I could predict my grades that term. Very fanciful of me, and I was in a great deal of trouble when Mother brought her guests in to see them and they were missing."

The Jellicos stared at her; the admiral's mouth twitched. "Deanna is a Daughter of the Fifth House," Jean-Luc said. "Her mother is the Federation ambassador to Betazed."

"Oh," Emily said, then again, with more cheer, "Oh! Did you actually live at the Fifth House?"

"For a few years. It's quite isolated, however, and Mother prefers being closer to urban areas. More opportunities to socialize. I hope they had a better tour guide when you were there. Mother has such trouble finding good ones." As she spoke, Deanna toyed with one earring; it fell off and slid from her collar bone down the curve of her left breast into her dress. She dropped her hand quickly and pretended not to notice, but the admiral's quick turn of the head indicated he'd probably seen.

"Yes, well -- if you'll excuse us? Emily, I wanted to introduce you to Ambassador Starik."

Nods all around, and the Jellicos moved away, leaving them standing slightly apart from the crowd around them in an open place on the white floor. Emily glanced back at them in surprise once.

"I think she didn't realize we were married," Deanna murmured. "He didn't approve of us, or me, perhaps."

"Doesn't matter."

"I suppose not."

"You need a new party trick. Dropping things down your dress is old hat." He met her eyes, determined not to look down for the stray earring. Her eyes laughed at it.

"At least he was drinking synthehol this time."

They shared a brief grin at the memory. A bad thought occurred to him. "You didn't. . . flirt with him, in that restaurant years ago, did you?"

She lost all amusement and turned chastising. "I have always had much better taste than that," she said, picking out the stray earring and fastening it on her ear one-handed, her drink tipping dangerously in the other hand.

"Good. I wouldn't want to find you'd two-timed me."

Her lips tightened, but it turned into a smile. "After all that talk about your pure motives, and now you say that."

"Well, I *was* in the body of a much-younger man."

"So we're back around to the biology defense."

"I sense a losing argument. Let's dance."

Shaking her head, she surrendered to the guidance of his hand on her elbow. "You sense?"

"Sorry. Guess you're rubbing off on me."

They set their half-empty drinks on a handy vacant table. She stepped into his arms and backed onto the dance floor, smiling. {Not yet, but I will be.}

The slow waltz was an old standby; he'd heard it every time he'd attended this ball. They fell into the rhythm, moving together with their usual easy grace.

{I do like that dress.}

{Want to borrow it?}

{I like it on you, Deebird, only on you.}

She inched closer and breathed words in his ear that made his back stiffen. "No underwear."

"Excuse me," a masculine voice said almost at once. "May I cut in?"

Deanna's eyes twinkled and danced. "Hello, Admiral H'nayison. I don't think Jean-Luc would mind, as long as I save him the last dance. Would you, cher?"

"Of course not." Jean-Luc smiled, bowed to his partner, and wove through the dancing couples to the edge of the dance floor, nodding and smiling at people all the way. Shelby, Beverly and Tom stood with Will Riker and his girlfriend, Bell. Another captain Jean-Luc didn't recognize seemed loosely attached to the group. The men were smiling too broadly, the women shaking their heads.

"Tom and I were just debating," Will said, pointing at the dancers then stroking his beard.

"They're arguing about why Dee, Bell and I didn't wear uniforms," Beverly said, her tone making plain how irritating that was.

"Who's winning?"

Bell groaned and made a face. "Not you, too, cher."

"I didn't say I was participating in the debate. That would be unfair. I already know why Dee didn't wear hers."

"I'm not even going to listen to this," Beverly grumbled, catching Bell's arm. "Come on, let's get something to drink and go talk to the Klingons."

"Now look what you've done," Tom exclaimed. He watched the two women walk away. Both wore formal gowns, though not so form-fitting as Deanna's.

"They're not upset with me. How could they be, I haven't said anything."

"They have a right to be upset," Shelby exclaimed. She split a glare evenly between Tom and Will.

"I don't see what the fuss is about -- they're just teasing," the unknown captain said. A recent promotion, probably. A number of the invitations to captains were issued by lottery; this had to be a lucky winner, he looked too eager to be there to be anything but a first-timer. A head shorter than Tom or Will, he stood behind and between them, occasionally running his fingers through his short toffee-brown hair.

"Teasing about whether or not female officers should wear uniforms to this?" Jean-Luc asked, indicating their surroundings. "Why did you wear a uniform, Elisabeth?"

"I'm a captain."

"So you're less of a captain when you put on civvies?"

Shelby frowned. "Well, fine, if you want another reason -- I don't want to parade around in front of a bunch of admirals in something spangly with my chest hanging out. It's unprofessional."

The man snickered. The rest of the group looked askance at him. Jean-Luc resisted the urge to tug at his collar. "And that reaction was so professional," he said, eyeing the captain. "I don't believe we've met."

"Captain Robert Gilbraith." Will gestured at the two in turn. "Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

Jean-Luc stepped forward to shake hands. "This is your first time at the Admiralty Ball, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir, it is. I just arrived a few minutes ago. It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain Picard. Did you bring your wife?"

"Certainly. She's dancing with someone at the moment."

"I see she didn't wear a uniform," Shelby said. "That surprised me a bit, but it figures."

"Does it? She's not here as my first officer tonight."

"Obviously," Gilbraith muttered. Jean-Luc followed his gaze, as did the others.

Deanna crossed the last two meters between them and stopped at Jean-Luc's side. Sizing up the group in a few quick glances, she smiled at him. {I was kidding about not wearing underwear, Jean-Fish. I couldn't resist.}

{Bad Betazoid.} "You lost an earring," he said.

She touched one ear, then the other, frowning. "I wonder where it went," she exclaimed. "I wish they'd quit coming off that way."

"Have you met Captain Gilbraith?" He gestured at him. "Unfortunately, you already know Tom and Will."

"Hey!" Will scowled, half-smiling -- he knew it was a tease.

"Nice dress," Elisabeth said sincerely.

"Thank you, Elisabeth. A pleasure to meet you, Captain," Deanna said, nodding to Gilbraith.

"The pleasure is all mine, Commander." The warm admiration in his dark eyes said it was indeed a pleasure.

Deanna sidestepped over to Will with such a sweet smile that Jean-Luc knew she was up to something. "You're looking very handsome tonight, Will."

"Thanks," he replied, backing away slowly. "Um, Dee, your earring. . . ."

She looked around at the floor. "Where?"

"Mr. Politeness is trying to tell you it's right in front of you," Tom said, tapping his chest.

She looked down the front of her dress. "Oh."

"Maybe you should leave it there so you don't lose it," Jean-Luc said. "In fact, could you hold my badge for me for a while?"

"Jean-Luc!"

"It's only fair. I held your bags while you were shopping yesterday. Oh -- wait, never mind, that's right, you swallow comm badges. Forget I asked. I'm going to get a drink, want something?"

He left her laughing at it with the others looking confused, but when he returned shortly with two drinks and handed one to her, the mirth and confusion had abated. She'd probably explained the circumstance under which she'd swallowed the badge.

"Careful of the swizzle stick," he said, handing her the tall frosty glass. The bar was using sticks with various comm badge designs and rank insignias on the ends; he had gotten one with the Enterprise's badge design for her. She gave it a dubious glance and sighed.

"So you really can perform your duties without hesitation," Gilbraith said, continuing whatever conversation had been taking place in Jean-Luc's absence.

"And then some," Tom added. "How's the baby?"

"Doing very well. He should finish basic training by the end of next week, when we'll start him on navigation," Deanna said. "By the time he finishes a complete rotation through all the departments we'll just put him in command and retire."

"Not bad, for only barely a month old," Will said, playing along, giving his trademark affable grin. "Who's going to help him with his pilot's certification?"

"I'll let Jean-Luc do it. He has no hair to pull out."

"I think Uncle Will should do it," Tom said, grinning and giving Will a sidelong puckish look.

"Our son," Jean-Luc filled in for Gilbraith. "You said you were going to focus on languages first, Dee."

"He's bright, he already knows Betazoid."

"You were supposed to teach him French first -- now he's going to have an atrocious accent," Jean-Luc exclaimed.

"Well, you were supposed to finish teaching me French, first!"

"You already swear in six languages. I am *not* teaching you how to swear in French!"

"Don't we have computers you can ask about things like that?" Tom asked.

"Careful, Tom," Will said, "you shouldn't get involved in the domestic affairs of other officers."

"Jean-Luc, are you going to let him talk about us that way?" Deanna fished the earring out and went about putting it on one-handed, spilling a few drops of her layered neon-green-and-pink drink on Tom's shoe.

"I think he was kidding. I'm reasonably certain neither of us has had an affair lately."

She frowned at him. "I wasn't referring to that. He called us domestic."

"I would have thought that fallacy was obvious."

Will chuckled, waved and gestured at Bell to come back from the bar, and turned to Deanna. "We're throwing a party for your birthday tomorrow. Bring your date."

"I don't know if I want to show up or not. What did you get me?"

Tom backhanded Gilbraith's shoulder lightly. "This is why I hang out with them, it's never boring."

"Like I'm going to tell you," Will exclaimed, ignoring Tom's commentary.

"It really doesn't matter. Nothing could top the birthday present I've already gotten."

Will chewed his mustache briefly. "I really don't know if it's smart to ask. But, we're in Starfleet -- it's all about the unknown, right? What did Jean-Luc get you this year?"

"Oh, the present wasn't from him," Deanna said nonchalantly. She winked at Jean-Luc and took his arm.

"I'm even more afraid than you are," Tom told Will. "You ask."

"Who?" Will asked, grinning. "Your mother?"

"The best gift I got this year was from Q."

Will's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."

"Nope."

"So what was it?" Tom asked, forgetting his fear.

Deanna turned laughing eyes on Jean-Luc and kissed his cheek. "An apology, and a reality check," she said, sauntering away with her drink, evidently to meet her mother, who had just come in the main entrance.

Jean-Luc slapped Will on the shoulder, shaking him out of shock. "Come on, you'd think by now you'd be used to this sort of thing. Let's go watch Deanna introducing her mother to Nechayev."

"This ought to be good," Will said. "Matter and anti-matter meet."

"Can I buy a ticket, too?" Tom asked, trailing along behind them with a rapt and incredulous Gilbraith. "They didn't tell me there was a floor show."


End file.
